


Starve the Emptiness

by Vampiric_Charms



Series: Burns Most of All [12]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:57:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6733321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chaos is in the eye of the beholder, and what is disorder to one soul is harmony for another.</p><p>Set before Mairon's fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starve the Emptiness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tt1973](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tt1973/gifts).



> This was written as a request for **ttrtru** , who was interested in seeing an extension of "stalker Melkor" from a previous story. Which, well, didn't _exactly_ happen here, but did turn into blatant staring and other things, which was another part of the request. Set before Mairon's fall, and more from Melkor's view this time.
> 
> Also, thank you to samwisespotatoes for reading over this for me when it was getting stuck.
> 
> Enjoy!

Melkor peered over Mairon’s shoulder to the tiny wooden pieces of picture spread across the grass. Mairon had smoothed the greenery down with a large woven mat, and was currently fitting the broken image together again quite smoothly, given how disarrayed it was around him. His mind was so focused on the task that he did not notice - or _care_ , at least, and that certainly counted - as Melkor lowered beside himself on the ground nearby to watch as he deliberately chose one piece, and then another, to place together on the mat to join so many more. Several hundred were already arranged, though there had to be at least twice as many remaining. 

“What is this?” Melkor asked with interest. “I have never seen something quite so…” He paused, searching for the word to describe the odd little scene. “So _disorganized_ in your presence before.”

“This is not disorganized,” Mairon murmured in response, not looking up. “It is a puzzle. There is a difference. I use these help order my thoughts,” he added softly, still distracted but not asking to be left alone - which could easily be deemed an invitation to stay, which Melkor did.

He watched Mairon connect several more pieces without effort, though all he could see was the jumbled mess of a painting trying to form rather than some enlightened type of thought provocation. “I assumed that was how you spent your time in the forge,” he said, “thinking. Thinking and brooding.”

“I do not _brood_ , thank you. And I do. Spend my time there, I mean, to think.” 

Mairon had not yet pulled his gaze away from his so-called puzzle, too focused on what he was working on, and his words faded off as he reached for another few pieces to add. Melkor took the time to observe him, undisturbed and unaware. His eyebrows were narrowed with concentration, little wrinkles forming between them as his eyes darted quickly over the completed section and back out over the unmatched pieces. He quickly found one he was searching for and took it up from the grass.

“How do you know what the image is supposed to be?” Melkor wondered aloud, not sure yet what the appeal of this tedious project could possibly be.

Mairon glanced up at him very briefly, their eyes meeting for the first time, and then lowered back down to his task. “I remember it, quite clearly.”

“You _remember_?” he scoffed, incredulous at this far too concise answer. “Remember it from when, you painting it yourself? That is hardly a fair advantage.”

“One of Curumo’s friends was kind enough to provide the painting,” Mairon explained inattentively, not even aware of his words at this point as he found a great string of pieces to bring together. “I saw it only as I brought the whole piece of birch to the carpentry hall to be cut.”

Melkor was silent, not sure how to respond to that. Impressive, truly, though he did not want to say so aloud and risk Mairon thinking he had somehow been awed by his talent. He picked up one of the tiny pieces, holding it between two fingers to study. A swirl of thick paint, bright blues and greens, cut off across the sides. The picture was completely indiscernible from this insignificant swath, and he did not have the faintest idea what it could possibly depict. All he could tell was that the stupid thing was painted on a thin piece of hardwood and cut into stupid little pieces.

Suddenly Mairon’s hand was in his field of vision, fingers beckoning impatiently. “I need this, please.” 

He did not wait for it to be given, instead taking it from Melkor’s loosened grasp. Their fingers met in passing as he did, and he glanced up quickly at the touch to meet Melkor’s surprised gaze. It seemed for a moment he was going to apologize for acting without permission, but he said nothing, pulling away and fitting the newly gained piece where it belonged.

Melkor’s skin burned where it had been brushed so unexpectedly and he dropped his hand. It was, perhaps, the first time Mairon had touched him at all, regardless of purpose. Something between them felt shifted, thickened and slowed in that moment of time, and he leaned back to rest his palms on the grass to open more space, allowing the shift to breathe without becoming stifled.

“Do you mean to tell me, then,” he said to release some of that newfound pressure, “that you only saw this image once - only _one time_ \- before it was cut all to pieces?” A bit of information he had been attempting to keep to himself, but if it would keep him engaged here for a while longer before fleeing, so be it. “And now you are - what, simply putting it back together again from memory?”

“You make it sound difficult,” Mairon replied with a little smirk. His eyes rose briefly once more, finding Melkor’s for a heartbeat before dropping. “Besides,” he added, tone distracted again as he continued working, “I see the shapes and colors as easily as the whole image. It is the pattern of it all, do you see? The subtle curves of edge and changes of hue, and how they all come together to recreate the final painting at the end. _Patterns_ , all of it.”

He had become fully absorbed in the puzzle as he finished speaking, no longer aware enough of their conversation to bother continuing it, and Melkor let his gaze settle across him without shame. Even sitting in the grass as he was, his shoulders were pulled back, his spine gently arched with easy relaxation and not held tense. His legs were crossed, and he leaned forward gracefully with each movement of his arm to take another piece from the ground so that his hair fell forward. The features of his face, the lithe build of his body - it was all deceptively delicate, sharp and alluring in that moment of pure calmness, with a touch of something so _inaccessible_ about his presence that Melkor had not noticed before.

And now, astonishingly vibrant under the physicality of outward appearance, was a mind so _cunning_ , so craving of stimulation from any source available, that Melkor could not help but be enthralled as he continued to watch. 

He waited as Mairon tucked the wayward hair behind his ear before asking, “Was the forge so unappealing for these particular thoughts you find yourself lost in?”

“Not unappealing, no,” Mairon murmured, glancing sideways from the corner of his eye. It was obvious he could feel the scrutinizing stare, even if he said nothing to reveal this. Melkor did not lower his gaze away. “The forge was crowded, is all. The noise of everyone was distracting.”

“The noise?” Melkor repeated, somewhat surprised by this. To him, the forge was always loud. Loud and uncomfortably _hot_. “But your own work is quite thunderous enough. Is the noise of others enough to turn you away?”

A response was not forthcoming right away as Mairon selected two more pieces to lay flat on the mat with their mates. He stilled for a moment in consideration, hand hovering over the broken image. “Perhaps noise is not the correct word. Chaos, then. I cannot bear to be found in chaos brought by others.” He raised his head, meeting Melkor’s unwavering gaze with one of his to match. “I prefer to work in my own silence, my own space. Free to do as I wish rather than be pulled in so many directions on a whim by another’s fancy.”

“You find this world created by the Valar you hold in such high regard, _chaotic_?” This time Melkor was unable to keep the surprise from his tone, and he raised his eyebrows. Mairon’s lips twitched toward a tight frown, expression unreadable, and he almost regretted phrasing the question as he had. Almost.

“Chaos may be found everywhere,” he responded shortly. “It takes very little to emerge.”

Again it seemed as if he had more to say, though he instead took a breath and released it slowly, no additional words joining the others. This time, however, he did not look away.

Melkor observed him closely, catching sight of a spark just behind the glint in his eyes. It was wild and fierce, untamable as it seared inward to burn into the fire of his soul. So few times had Melkor seen him like this, untethered by restraint, and he found himself completely drawn in by that golden wave of energy as it spilled forward to the space between them. The blinding force of it, that power, was tremendous, and he soaked it greedily toward him, twining it through his spirit as though running fingers through hair of silken flame. 

He wished, then, to touch that energy as it swirled around them and, lacking the ability to physically grasp something so intangible, reached out across the gap to slide his knuckles along Mairon’s cheek. His skin was almost blistering with its heat, and Melkor unfurled his fingers to cup his face with one large palm. Mairon did not shy away from the touch, their eyes still quite locked together.

“It is fascinating to me,” Melkor murmured, tipping Mairon’s chin up slightly with the heel of his hand, “that you are so troubled by chaos, and yet you do not scorn my presence when it has been said by my own brethren I embody chaos itself.” 

Mairon turned his face away, breaking their contact and lowering his gaze back to the puzzle. The moment was passed, almost beyond recapture. “I have heard what has been said,” he replied clearly, words heavy with unsaid implications. “I do not agree.”

“Is that so,” Melkor whispered. 

He felt nearly bereft as he brought his hand back to the grass, the bond of touch lost even as the power held so near. He longed to pull it closer, to draw as much forth as he could. The sense of that fire was addictive with its ebbs and flows nudging so gently against his soul. He frowned, disliking this sense of need as it welled so _fiercely_ even as he allowed himself to bask in it. 

“Do tell, what is it you think of me, then?” he continued after a moment, saving these musing to ponder over later.

“I think,” Mairon muttered, reaching again for several more pieces to match on the mat where they belonged, “you may be the only being in this world I allow to intrude on my solitude when I do _so_ wish to be alone. Is that enough of an answer for you, or must I provide something more histrionic to suit your changing mood?” 

His lips quirked up in a quick smile, vanishing nearly as soon as it appeared, and Melkor could not help the laugh that came rippling from his chest. Whatever tension had been building in those few minutes was releasing itself easily to fade off on the breeze, their camaraderie falling into the friendly banter he had come to appreciate more than he had expected as time wore on, what he continued so often to return for - his sharp tongue and sharper mind, sparking in faultless tune with his own. 

“Is that your subtle way of asking me to leave?” Melkor inquired, still chuckling.

“Oh, quite the contrary.” Mairon glanced up again, a piece of the puzzle grasped in his fingers as he paused, just about to set it in place. “I would very much like for you to stay.”

 _And so I shall._

Though aloud, Melkor said, “Will you be working on this much longer?”

“Not much, no. It is not providing nearly the challenge I hoped it would,” Mairon replied, a small amount of agitation finding its way through his response. “I will finish it, certainly, because I cannot leave it _un_ finished. Though perhaps something more difficult, next time.”

“For when you are unable to stand the chaos any longer?”

Mairon met his eyes once again, and once again - did not look away. The now familiar fire ignited around them within that simple moment, fierce and consuming, and Melkor reveled in the sensation. Their souls were perfectly aligned and yet still wholly unseen, singing together in that untold space holding all together. 

“Precisely.”


End file.
